


Aseptic

by jachiavellian



Category: Silent Witness (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9790127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jachiavellian/pseuds/jachiavellian
Summary: A woman is murdered and Nikki and the team have very little to go on. They soon realise that the motive hits closer to home than they ever could have thought.





	1. Chapter 1

It had gone dark by the time Clare exited the motorway, flicking a lever at the side of the wheel to turn up the brightness of her headlights. She huffed in frustration and shuffled in her seat to make out the road ahead of her as she struggled to adjust to the newfound darkness of the country lane. For years she had been writing to the council about the frankly dangerous lack of streetlights on this road in particular and they had responded with an unsurprising lack of enthusiasm, blaming the economic climate of course.

The radio crackled at her above the hum of the engine, distorting the solemn chords of the song it was playing. Clare frowned, the sound offensive to her ears, and slowed her pace a little as she punched a button to turn it off. An almost-silence consumed the vehicle, pervasive and oppressive as the blackness it was surrounded by.

She sighed in relief, pressing down on the accelerator once more. The lane was narrowing considerably and she dreaded meeting another vehicle coming from the opposite direction, as one of them would invariably be forced to reverse back in the dark. After the long day she'd had, it was highly unlikely that said person would be her.

Clare had barely finished that thought when a light broke through the darkness ahead, scattering into an illuminated cloud of particles in the thick air. She squinted, slowing the car in caution. The light split into two distinct sources, staring unblinkingly at her out of the blackness of the night. They seemed to be unmoving, only growing in size and intensity as she slowly approached.

"What the hell," Clare muttered as the light source took shape, appearing to her as a silhouetted mass save for the reflection of her own headlights in its glossy metal exterior. It was obstructing her path completely from what she could make out, and so she braked, shielding her eyes from the lights of what she took to be another vehicle.

There was an eerie stillness, broken only by the hair in front of her face as it was stirred by her own exhalations, and then the sound of heavy footsteps broke through the silence, gradually getting louder as the owner of the vehicle approached. Clare rolled down her window, heart thrumming in her chest, to address him.

"You're gonna have to reverse, mate. Or turn down those headlights so I have a chance at it." Her voice cut through the atmosphere unnaturally, and she had to consciously restrain herself from shrinking back.

A moment passed, too long for the conventional rules of conversation to apply; there was no reply. The footsteps stopped next to the car door, and Clare squinted against the harsh light to make out the figure.

Before she had time to speak again, a gloved hand reached inside of the car and clasped around her wrist. Clare cried out in surprise and pain, trying to jerk it away, and then the world span out of focus as a heavy object collided with her head. The headlights ahead of her were the last thing she vaguely registered as everything went black.

* * *

The sound of Nikki's phone ringing punctured the early morning silence.

She exhaled, savouring the last moments of comfort in bed before sitting up to answer it. The cool air hit her skin and she shivered, drawing up her knees to her chest.

"Nikki Alexander," she spoke at last, silently impressed at her ability to mask vocally the lack of sleep she was suffering from.

"Dr. Alexander," a male voice greeted her. "DS Pritchard. We have a body for you. Fallowbrook road; I'm texting you the full address now."

Nikki glanced at the clock and winced, fingers brushing across her forehead. "On my way," she said, shuffling her legs out from beneath the covers and searching blindly with her feet for her slippers. "I'll be twenty minutes."

"Thanks," came the response, now decidedly less professional and more relieved, she thought with a sardonic smile. "See you then."

"See you." She tapped the screen of her phone to hang up and slid from her bed, making her way across the room to tug back the curtains. Dewy early light broke from above the skyline and spilled into the space, touching the interior with a soft golden hue. She saw it bouncing from her lashes, gilding the edges of her vision. It felt wrong though, to admire for too long the sunrise when somewhere a person was lying dead, waiting for her to deduce the circumstances of their demise, and so Nikki turned away from it to get ready.

She had just about finished in the bathroom and was in the process of drying her face when her phone rang for the second time. Placing the towel back on the rack, she made her way back over to the dressing table. Jack's name illuminated the screen. An involuntary smile touched her lips and she reached to answer it, tapping the speaker button so that she could tie up her hair whilst she spoke to him.

"Jack, hi," she called.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he teased. Nikki rolled her eyes, scraping back her hair and twisting it into a bun.

"I'll be ten minutes. Apologise to the body for me."

"Yes, about that," his tone grew a little more serious. "Might I suggest skipping breakfast for this one?"

Nikki had placed hair grips in between her teeth whilst she tugged at a few stubborn blonde locks, and mumbled around them to speak. "Is it that bad?"

"It's not pretty. She's been badly mutilated."

"Sexually motivated?"

"Quite probably. They're suggesting an ex or unrequited lover as the likely suspect." He sounded doubtful.

"You're not so sure?" Nikki queried, grabbing her bag and taking the phone off speaker to hold it to her ear as she exited the bedroom.

"I don't want to make assumptions just yet. They're throwing statistics around, but... Well, just get here and see for yourself."

"Yes, sir," she mocked lightly, retrieving the car keys from the kitchen unit. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

"I look forward to it."

She shook her head with a wry smile, shoving her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and wrestling with the door of her flat for a few moments to open and successfully close it around her. Trust Jack to make the prospect of a 5AM call-out seem even remotely enjoyable. She couldn't fault his comic timing; gallows humour came with the trade of course, but he and Clarissa seemed to take it to a new level entirely sometimes. It was needed most on days like this though, when the transgressive nature of the crime made it impossible to deal with in complete seriousness, and she was immensely grateful to the both of them for providing it. As much as she liked and admired Thomas, his ability to lighten a situation was lacking to say the least.

The journey took only slightly longer than expected, and it was nearing half past six when she eventually arrived on scene. She clambered hastily into her scrub suit before approaching the group of officials nearby. A tall, dark-haired man in a suit, whom she took to be the detective, turned to acknowledge her.

"Dr Alexander," the man spoke, extending an arm to her. "I'm DS Pritchard - we spoke on the phone."

Nikki nodded, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you. Where's the body?"

"This way," he directed with a brush of his hand against the small of her back. "We've got no positive identification as of yet, but we've got her car so we're going to run the registration past the DVLA."

"When was she found?"

"About two hours ago. Her vehicle was obstructing the road." He stopped purposefully and pointed to the vehicle in question. "She's just behind there. Your colleague is with her."

"Thanks," Nikki said, tugging on a pair of gloves and following the line of his arm to observe the car for a moment. "Do you want gloves?"

DS Pritchard's face paled somewhat and he shook his head abruptly. "Uh, no thanks. I've got a call to make."

"Right," Nikki glanced back, resisting the urge to frown at him. A squeamish detective was the last thing they needed. Instead, she turned and picked her way around the vehicle, noting with a shiver that the driver's door was wide open. A familiar flash of dark blue caught her eye through the windscreen; Jack was squatting by the side of the road, camera in hand, frowning into the space before him, which was concealed by a white forensics tent.

She stopped a few metres away from him, peering through the tent entrance to take in the scene. The woman lay on the wet ground, curled up like a foetus on her side, one arm curled defensively around her head and the other circling her legs as she held them to her chest. She looked like a burns victim, a combination of blood and mud crusting almost protectively over her bruised skin and shielding it from view.

Nikki approached and stooped to get a proper look at the woman's visage from behind her arm, recoiling slightly as she did. It had been repeatedly slashed in multiple directions to completely obscure her facial features, the puckered edges of the broken skin forming valleys across her cheeks, dipping into the hollows of her eyes and rising to meet the swells of her lips and her nose. One jagged cut extended up to her hairline, and Nikki furrowed her brow to note that a section of hair there had been cut. She raised her camera to her face to capture the image of the truncated blonde locks, lowering it slowly and meeting Jack's gaze as she did.

"They took a trophy," she murmured and he nodded, lips pressed together.

"We reckon she's got the same injuries around her genitalia; you can see the slashes extending to her abdomen, but we didn't want to move her to have a look until you got here."

Nikki nodded, snapping another few photos and then prising aside one knee of the victim with an apologetic gloved hand to inspect the groin area. The movement felt voyeuristic, a feeling which intensified as she was met with the sight of multiple criss-crossed lacerations. She flinched a little and nodded to Jack.

"There appears to be significant vaginal trauma, and some discolouration, but I'll need to have a closer look in the lab. Rigor has set in."

Jack nodded, rising from his squatted position and moving to stand behind her. "Time of death?"

"Livor mortis suggests three to six hours ago," she said, raising the woman's hand from where it rested on one knee and furrowing her brow. "There are what look to be dark fibres caught in the fingernails," she added, reaching into her case to withdraw plastic bags and tape and begin the process of bagging the hands. "Most probably from her attacker. Bruises on the arms and neck suggest she was held down with considerable force. I'm not seeing any ligature marks though."

"There are drag marks in the ground leading from where her car is, and a second set of tyre tracks leading away," Jack added. "No sign of any blood in her car, so my guess is she was abused and killed here, or possibly in the attacker's vehicle before being dumped in this spot. It's difficult to say which."

The sound of squelching footsteps behind them alerted them both to the reappearance of Pritchard, who cast his eyes briefly and reluctantly over the body before addressing Nikki. "We've heard back from the DVLA. Her name's Clare Eastwood, forty two years old, works as a legal secretary. She lives nearby with her husband and three kids."

"Jesus," Jack muttered, shaking his head. Nikki pursed her lips.

"Any sign of her clothes or a bag or something?" She asked the detective. Pritchard shook his head.

"They were one of the first things we looked for but there's absolutely no sign of any belongings anywhere, except for the car."

"Why would the killer take her clothes?" Nikki wondered aloud, studying the body again.

"It all points to it being a personal attack," Pritchard supplied with a meaningful glance at Jack, whose jaw clenched in frustration.

"Maybe they're in his vehicle," he pointed out.

"And he took her bag too? Was the aim to remove all possibility of identification?"

"He did disfigure her face, so that's a possibility. But then why would he leave the car?" Nikki mused. "Maybe the bag's a second trophy. I mean, he took the hair too."

Jack nodded vaguely beside her, but Pritchard didn't look convinced.

"That's what serial killers do, isn't it? Take trophies?"

"Usually yes," Nikki supplied, "but it isn't a practice exclusive to serial killers. This could still be a personal attack."

"What, so we're just going to have to wait and see if anyone else drops dead?" he snapped.

"It's early days yet," she replied defensively. "We need to get her back to the lab and look for any DNA which might identify her killer. I think we're done here."

"I'll follow you back to the lab," Jack said. "I just want to take some soil samples first."

Nikki nodded to him before addressing Pritchard again. "You're welcome to watch the autopsy if you like." There was a noticeable pause, and she bit back a satisfied smile as his panicked gaze flitted between her and the body. Finally, he shook his head.

"No, uh, no thanks. I have paperwork to file. Give me a call once you're done, won't you?"

She muttered an 'of course', tugging off her bloodstained gloves and turning on her heel to head back along the path.

Jack's awestruck grin followed her all the way to the car.


	2. Chapter 2

The autopsy was finished by midday, and Nikki tugged her gloves and apron off to dump them in the bin on her way out of the lab. Thomas followed a moment later, a pensive expression creasing his brow.

"Absolutely bloody nothing," he announced as they rejoined Jack and Clarissa. "The vaginal swab turned up undiluted bleach, so whoever did it was forensically aware and did not want to be found."

"So it was sexually motivated," Clarissa stated, and Thomas nodded.

"Most definitely. It's unusual that he slashed her face up, though. If he was an ex lover surely he would have wanted to see it."

"What about the fibres in her fingernails?" Jack asked, glancing at Nikki.

"There's nothing particularly unusual about them," she replied with a sigh. "They're probably from a sweatshirt of some kind, but that's all we can get."

"So all we have to go off is some size twelve footprints and tyre tracks," he concluded, sinking into his chair with defeat.

"Pretty much." Nikki reached up to tug the pins from her hair, knotting her fingers in it as it came free from its tie. "I suppose I'd better break the news to Pritchard."

"How did such a useless man get to DS, let alone be given this case?"

"Is he really that bad?" Clarissa asked, raising her eyebrows at Jack.

"He wouldn't come and watch the autopsy, wouldn't even look at the body back at the crime scene," Nikki answered for him, rummaging around in the desk drawer for her hairbrush and frowning when she failed to find it. "Has anyone seen my brush?"

"Borrow mine," Clarissa offered, reversing backwards to allow her access to her bag. "Does he have a father occupying an important position in the force by any chance?"

"Probably," Jack muttered darkly. "I don't see how else he'd end up with a case like this."

Nikki sank into her chair, exhaling slowly and feeling the tension unravel in her back somewhat as she did so. "I'm not sure what else we can do from here. They're just going to have to ask around to see if anyone saw anything that night." She picked up her phone from the surface of the desk, running a finger idly across the screen before searching for Pritchard's name in her address book and tapping it.

"Good luck," Jack threw over his shoulder as he exited, the low hum of a motor suggesting that Clarissa was right behind him. Nikki glanced up to where Thomas stood, lips set in a grim line.

"I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks," she quipped in response, just as a crackle down her ear alerted her to DS Pritchard's virtual presence. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, readying the case file in front of her. "Hi, it's Doctor Alexander."

"Have you finished the autopsy?" Pritchard asked.

"Yes. It's yielded very little I'm afraid. We couldn't find any DNA; the killer raped her, beat her to death and then bleached and mutilated her body."

"Is that all?"

"Aside from a few minor details. We're probably looking for a left handed man due to the depth and directions of the facial and genital lacerations. His feet are a size twelve and he is likely to drive a van owing to the size of the tyre tracks we found at the scene. There's another thing..."

"What is it?" He sounded irate, and Nikki could hardly blame him; the evidence they had would not convict anyone.

"Well, it's just reasoning based off profiling knowledge, but I don't think we're dealing with someone Clare necessarily knew. It was definitely sexually motivated, but the fact that he disfigured her face implies that it wasn't quite as personal as the taking of her clothes and bag would initially suggest."

"None of that is much use to us at all, Nikki." She bristled a little at the overfamiliar use of her first name, but took a breath to calm herself and responded evenly.

"I know, and I'm sorry we can't be of more assistance, but we can only work with what we're given."

There was a pause before Pritchard spoke again. "Yes, well, thanks anyway I suppose. We'll be in touch."

"You're welcome," she muttered, just as he ended the call. Frustrated, Nikki dropped the phone back onto the desk and allowed her gaze to slip from it to the file she had before her. Mind wandering, she flicked the cover page open, taking in the photos she had captured just that morning. The case troubled her more than this sort of murder usually did, and she couldn't quite figure out why. Perhaps it was the taking of her bag alongside the disfigurement, making the attack both personal and impersonal. And the vicious injuries mixed with the seemingly calm and calculated removal of evidence, blurring the lines between emotional removal and complete involvement. Either way, Nikki was finding it difficult to build up any definitive popular profile of the murderer, and she hated that.

She flicked through the photos taken at the crime scene, noting the discolouration around the public area which they could now attribute to the bleach the murderer had used. He had cleaned up after himself almost without fault, the only evidence of his involvement being the tyre tracks and footprints, which were generic enough clues to still encompass a fairly sizeable chunk of the population.

One of the photos in particular caught her eye, and she frowned, lifting it closer to the light. It depicted the back of Clare's thighs, marbled purple with blood that had settled there and smeared with mud. Her attention was drawn to a set of faint lines etched into the skin, barely noticeable beneath the grime that caked it. Nikki stood, crossing hurriedly to the corridor to re-enter the lab.

The cleaner stared at her when she walked in, and she apologised to him as she pulled the body from the freezer. A quick re-examination confirmed it; tiny scrapes covered the underside of her body, easily obscured by the lividity of the skin they decorated. They were faint enough for her to have missed them both at the crime scene and during the autopsy, but relatively clean and regulated, suggesting Clare had been dragged across some kind of metal surface. Nikki's guess was the inside of the van. It wasn't much to go off, but it confirmed Jack's suspicions that she had been raped and beaten inside the vehicle before being dragged outside and mutilated where she lay in the mud.

She exhaled, leaning against the morgue table before moving to make a few amendments to the autopsy report.

Thomas appeared in the meeting room just as she was placing the body back into the freezer. "What is it, Nikki?" He asked through the glass.

"Small scratches along the underside of the body," she replied, peeling off her gloves. "We missed them, but I think they're enough to confirm that Clare was inside the attacker's van at some point."

"Do you want me to give him a call?"

She nodded gratefully, thanking him before leaving the lab to climb out of her suit. When she made it back to her desk, he had finished the call and was standing at the door to his office.

"I spoke to him. They're going to focus on finding that van."

"At least they have some direction now," she mused, sinking into her chair and exhaling in relief as the weight was lifted from her legs. Thomas didn't speak for a moment, and when she glanced back up at him, he was wearing a rather sheepish expression.

"Nikki..."

"Oh, I know that look," she said with a wry smile. "What do you need?"

"There's a function coming up. A formal dinner type thing, with some of the big names in pathology attending. You know how it is. Anyway I promised my daughter-"

"You want me to go and represent the Lyell centre," Nikki assumed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," he admitted, the sheepish expression he was sporting intensifying.

"Leo used to do the same thing," she said, lowering her gaze. Her smile softened and she nodded absently. "When is it?"

"Friday evening. I'll forward you the email with the details in it." He paused, evidently waiting for a response, but seeing she was lost in thought he just dipped his head. "Thanks, Nikki. I owe you."

She nodded again, jerking out of her reverie. "I've got a nice stack of paperwork with your name written all over it."

Thomas laughed, and she was reminded painfully of Leo for the second time in their brief exchange. "I'll see to it," he said. "You on the other hand need to go home and get some rest - you look tired."

"I am," she conceded, touching her hand to the bridge of her nose briefly before bending in her seat to retrieve her bag from the floor. "Thank you, Thomas. I'll see you tomorrow."

Thomas pressed his lips together in a smile, watching as Nikki stood and shrugged on her coat. She gave him a small wave as he retreated back into the dimly lit confines of his office, and then made her way towards the exit, the melancholy whistled tune of the Lyell centre cleaner fading with every step she took.


	3. Chapter 3

The next couple of days passed slowly. Having made no more progress on the Clare Eastwood case it was back to business as usual, and Nikki had a number of autopsies to catch up on. Thomas had alleviated a little of the pressure when he had agreed to write up some of her reports, but not enough for her to enjoy a quiet week.

As a result, she was elbow-deep in a seventy year old's chest cavity when DS Pritchard appeared in the meeting room window.

"Nikki, hi," he greeted her, managing a smile despite the horror on his face when he was presented with the sight of the opened body lying on the table before her. Nikki looked up, surprised.

"Can I help you?" She asked, withdrawing her hands from the body to turn off the recorder.

"I just thought I'd let you know about a new lead we have in the case," he said. "Thought you might be interested."

"Yeah, that'd be great," she called up. "Can you give me ten minutes whilst I finish with Mr Thurston here?"

She thought he paled a little at that, but he nodded resolutely and took a seat by the window to wait for her to complete the autopsy. A little uncomfortable with the knowledge that he was watching and listening to her, Nikki clicked the recorder back on and resumed her examination of the body.

Fifteen minutes later she had returned the body to the freezer and changed back into her work attire, and was heading up to the meeting room. Pritchard looked up as she entered, flashing her a nervous smile.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked. "Tea? Coffee?" But he just shook his head, and she lowered herself into the chair opposite him. "You mentioned a new lead?"

"Oh, yes, we have a suspect."

She leaned forwards expectantly in her seat, waiting for him to continue.

"I- uh," he seemed flustered for some reason, and Nikki toyed with the hem of her skirt, impatience manifesting itself overtly in her demeanour as much as she tried to hide it. Pritchard's face meanwhile was nearing the livid purple colour she'd expect to see on the underside of a corpse, the harsh light of the meeting room bouncing from his shining forehead.

"Maybe you'd like to discuss it over a drink. Tonight." He said abruptly, breaking the silence, before adding lamely, "With me."

Nikki looked up at him, startled. "O- oh," she managed, consciously trying to coax her eyebrows back down to a neutral expression. "Oh, well that would be nice but I have a thing tonight - a work function, so perhaps we'd better just talk about it now."

Pritchard looked wounded, and glanced down at his hands. "Ah, okay. That's fine." There was a slight pause, during which Nikki cringed at the awkwardness that had emerged between them. She could have cried from sheer relief when he finally spoke again. "Well the run-down is that we spoke to Clare Eastwood's husband, and he told us she'd had some trouble with an ex recently. Kept on harassing her on Facebook, ringing the house phone, that sort of stuff. We've done background checks on the guy and there's nothing out of the ordinary, but he does work for a building company so he could have access to company vans."

"Have you taken him in for questioning?" Nikki asked, straightening in her seat. "As suspects go he sounds fairly promising."

"He's at the station now. Detective Inspector Hilton is interviewing him." Pritchard looked a little uncomfortable as he said that, and Nikki winced.

"Have you been taken off the case?"

"You could say that. I'm still involved, but he's relieved me of control."

"I'm sorry," she said, but he flashed her a forced smile.

"Don't be. I was sort of punching above my weight anyway really."

Nikki wasn't sure how to respond to that, and so she returned his smile hesitantly. "Are you sure I can't get you a coffee?" she asked at last.

"No, thanks," he all but interjected, rising to his feet. "I should be getting back to the station."

"Alright," she stood, twisting her fingers together in front of her. "Well, keep me updated on the case, won't you?"

Pritchard dipped his head in acknowledgement, and Nikki stepped aside so that he could pass before following him out into the corridor.

"Goodbye," she called after him as he pushed open the glass doors. He halted and turned to look back at her briefly, repeating her farewell and then letting the door close behind him.

"What did he want?" Jack had emerged from the room they shared and was staring after the detective's retreating form. Seeing her pensive expression, he offered the mug of coffee he was holding to her, and she accepted it with a grateful smile before moving back into the room and perching on the edge of his desk. He sank into his chair, looking up at her expectantly.

"They've got a new suspect and the DI has taken control of the case."

"Wow, I didn't see that one coming," he said, sarcasm latent in every word. Nikki shot him a reproachful look.

"I feel sort of bad for him. I honestly don't think he wanted anything to do with it."

"That's surprisingly empathetic for someone who seemed determined to make him uncomfortable as possible yesterday," Jack said cynically. "What else did he say?"

Nikki flushed, stalling her response by tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I think he tried to ask me out."

"Seriously?" He raised his eyebrows at that, incredulous.

She nodded, grimacing. "Said he wanted to discuss the case and asked if I'd rather do it over a drink."

"And you said you're very sorry but you'd rather date a cadaver?" His suggestion was playful, but Nikki thought there was a serious question hidden beneath it. She exhaled in a puff of amusement and shook her head.

"I told him that I have a function to go to tonight so it would be best for him to say what he had to say there and then."

Jack winced. "I'm not sure if that's better or worse than my suggestion." Nikki just shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee he had made for her.

"It's the truth."

She felt his stare on her, studying her, and glanced up over the rim of the mug inquisitively.

"What?"

"Would you?" It was an ambiguous question, even considering the context of their conversation. She furrowed her brow.

"What, would I date Detective Sergeant Pritchard?"

He nodded, tilting his head. A breathy laugh escaped from her lips.

"God, no!"

"Why not? He's tall, dark, not unattractive..."

"Jack Hodgson, you stop right there," she mock-scolded, slipping from the desk to stand and make her way around to her own seat. "Don't you have work to be doing anyway?"

"Says the one who's swanning off to the fancy work-do at a five star hotel tonight," he teased.

"You're more than welcome to go in my place," she said, lips twisting into a smile. "I'd much rather be at home in bed."

"Nah, Thomas would never let me loose at a function," Jack snorted. "He'd sooner send one of the corpses to represent the Lyell."

Nikki bit her lip to conceal her amusement. To be fair to Thomas, he had good reason not to let Jack anywhere near potential funders; he had a fairly appalling track record when it came to appeasing authority figures, not that hers was much better. Thomas was the true diplomat of the team, and it didn't take a genius to spot it.

"You said they had a suspect?" Jack spoke after a few moments.

"They have but you're not going to like it," she said with a rueful smile.

"Ex-lover?" He guessed, letting out a frustrated sigh when she responded with a nod. "On what grounds?"

"Pritchard said he was harassing Clare on Facebook, and that he has access to vans at his place of work."

"Is that all?"

Nikki frowned, glancing up at him. "It's reasonable grounds, don't you think?"

"I don't know. Something doesn't fit," he muttered.

"It doesn't fit because you're not letting it fit," she chided gently.

"Oh come on, Nikki, you agreed with me about the attack being impersonal. Her face was slashed up!" He stood, tugging his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugging it on. Nikki tilted her head.

"Where are you going?"

"Down to the station. Want to come?"

She gave him a reproachful look. "No, I've got an autopsy report to type up. You'll be lucky if this new DI lets you anywhere near the suspect though. Pritchard's not involved anymore, remember?"

"Well someone needs to swab him," Jack said with a sly smile. "Besides, we're familiar with the case - it makes sense for the Lyell to see it through."

Nikki sighed, placing her mug down. "You couldn't bullshit your way out of a paper bag, you know that?" He grinned at her words as he retrieved his phone from the desk and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. She shook her head, accepting defeat. "Just try not to antagonise him."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack saluted. "I'll see you on Monday then. Have fun at the function."

"I'll save you a canapé or two," she shot after him, and was rewarded with the sight of his amused smile as he headed for the door. Once it had swung shut behind him the centre was left in silence, save for the faint sound of the radio drifting from Thomas' office.

Nikki glanced at her watch, frowning. She had a couple of hours before she needed to start getting ready for the function - more than enough time to type up the report. Dragging her mind away from the Clare Eastwood case, she pulled herself closer to the desk and dug out a pair of headphones from her drawer, mentally preparing herself for the next hour or so.

Down at the police station, the lights flickered on in one of the old interview rooms. DS Pritchard could only watch from behind the glass screen, eyes narrowed, as the suspect was led in.


	4. Chapter 4

The world was a pleasant mess of black and silver when the taxi arrived at Nikki's house, and she giggled a goodbye to the driver, fishing out a note and crossing his palm with it before risking the step out of the vehicle.

Her ankle trembled as she placed it down, the heel of her shoe wobbling on the tarmac under her unsteady weight. Gripping firmly onto the doorframe of the cab, she slipped her other leg out and shuffled to the edge of the seat, the hem of her dress riding up almost inappropriately as she transferred weight from her bum to her legs. Blushing, Nikki tugged the skirt down, thanked the taxi driver again and made her way carefully to the front of the building.

Drinking made her feel twenty-five again. It was a crude form of escapism, but one she enjoyed nonetheless. She could allow herself to entertain certain thoughts under the influence of alcohol, thoughts which she'd never dare let cross her mind in a completely conscious state, and such thoughts occupied her mind as she slipped through the gate and stumbled down the pathway to her door.

The white artificial light flickered on, casting tall grey shadows along the stony ground. The dark shapes groped at her ankles as she walked, and to her alcohol-impaired brain seemed to move towards her. Something caught her eye then, and she stopped short of the steps to her door, sobering a little almost instantly.

Littered across the ground around her feet were tiny splinters of wood, which upon closer and more conscious inspection she established to be fragments of her door. The faded white pigment bruising the end of each shard was all too familiar to her; when she had bought the house the door had been a dull green colour, and it had taken a week of sun and two entire cans of paint to cover it completely. Nikki's hands clenched into fists instinctively, and she took a few small steps forwards, raising her gaze to study what remained of the door.

It had been smashed to its skeletal framework and hung limply open, the lock wrenched from the wall, leaving behind a dusty exposed cavity. Nikki touched her forehead, leaning against the side of the building for a moment before gathering enough composure to retrieve her phone from her bag. She blindly searched for Jack's name and hit the call button, holding the metal against the side of her flushed face and taking some comfort from the coolness it had retained from the night air.

The call rang out three times before it was answered, and she could have sobbed in relief when she heard his voice.

"Nikki? It's 1AM-"

"Jack, thank god!"

Something in her voice must have concerned him, for he paused before speaking again.

"Is everything alright?"

"Someone's been in my house," she said, a note of hysteria creeping into her words. "The door's been smashed open."

"Have you been in?" He asked, and she shook her head before realising dimly that a voiced response would be required.

"N- no. I only just got back."

"What about the police? Have you called them?"

She winced, the fact registering that she hadn't even considered calling them. "Not yet."

"Right, I'll give them a call. Stay where you are and I'll be with you in ten minutes. Okay?" She heard the rustle of sheet covers and took it to mean that he was getting out of bed. A rush of affection swept over her, and she smiled a little against the phone.

"Thank you, Jack."

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you soon."

Nikki murmured a goodbye before hanging up, clinging onto her phone as she took a few steps forwards and peered into the darkness of her home. She let out a shaky breath, one hand clutching the wall for support.

The last time she'd had a break in was when she still lived in the flat, and the intruder hadn't left a single visible trace of their presence. Now however she was faced with a different story entirely; in short, the place was a mess. The mirror which decorated the wall nearest the door had been smashed, and shards of it were scattered across the wooden flooring. As she entered the house they winked at her, throwing back the faint light that seeped in through the doorway. Further down the hallway lay the remains of her lamp, the metal base forming a bruised and dented spinal cord to the smashed fragments of bulb which surrounded it.

Most upsetting of all though was the sight of her photo frames, strewn carelessly and glassless across the floor. The photographs they had once held lay nearby, and a soft "oh" of dismay escaped Nikki's lips as she picked her way across the hallway. Shards of glass crunched below her feet; she ignored the sound and crouched by the fallen photos. In one, she was smiling next to Harry at Leo's 50th birthday dinner, her face youthful and unlined as she beamed up at the camera. Another depicted Leo himself the same night, a drink in his hand and surprise at being caught by the lens evident in every feature. A hint of a smile brushed Nikki's lips as she picked it up, cradling it to her chest. Jack's face jumped up at her from beneath it, delight in his eyes. In the photo he was sat in Clarissa's powerchair, grinning like a twelve year old as she looked on from the stool beside him. Others followed, showing Luisa and Gustavo back in Mexico, her mother, even a small photo of her father. All of them had been dragged down from their place on the table along with the lamp and lay, a perverse and heterotopic display of her most personal relationships for all to see.

She lost track of time as she crouched there, the image of Leo still clutched in her hands, until her legs started to shake with the strain of maintaining her position. Unsteady, she stood again, using the wall for support and placing the photograph back down gently on the table where it had initially stood.

"Nikki?" Jack's voice echoed down the hallway and she jumped, hand jumping to her forehead once she realised it was him.

"Christ, Jack," she muttered, head swimming as she turned to face him.

"I thought I told you to stay put," he said, a flicker of what she took to be resignation evident in his demeanour.

"Yeah well when did I ever listen to what people told me to do?" Nikki responded glumly. The slightest hint of a smile twisted his lip, and he picked his way across the hallway to join her. There was a brief silence as both of them took in the mess around them.

"The police are on their way," he spoke at last, but was cut off as he looked down at her properly for the first time since his arrival. Her face was contorted as she fought back the urge to cry, lips pressed together and jaw clenched.

"Jack, I've had too much to drink," she said tearfully, frustration at her own mess of emotions and lack of co-ordinated thought evident in the waver of her voice. He studied her for a moment, following the shadows cast by her lashes to where mascara dampened the very tops of her cheekbones, and then just chuckled, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and drawing her to his chest. She felt his voice rumble against her skin when he spoke.

"Is this you warning that you might try to jump me?"

Nikki buried her face in his shirt and let out a muffled sob, shoulders shaking in an action stuck halfway between laughing and crying. He gave her a gentle squeeze before releasing her, hand lingering on her shoulder.

"Should we have a look around? See if anything important's missing so we can let the police know?"

She nodded, hand seeking his arm for a fraction of a second before she thought better of it and gripped the skirt of her dress instead. They moved slowly into the living space, Jack exhaling heavily as he took in the extent of the damage. Nikki could only stare, wide-eyed. Her television had been torn from the wall and lay in pieces, the screen fractured and detached from the main body; above it the mantelpiece was bare, the ornaments tossed carelessly across the room with various other parts of the furniture. A blade had been used to slash the sofa and each of the cushions which had adorned it. Each bulb in the room had been smashed, and a quick glance into the kitchen confirmed that it had met a similar fate.

"Jesus," Jack muttered, hands curling into fists. Nikki remained silent, clutching at rationality through her inebriation. The clean-up from this would take weeks - where would she stay? And she didn't want to even begin to think about the cost of replacing everything. She had insurance, of course; that would need to be sorted at some point-

Jack looked down at her, concern etched across his features. "Are you alright?"

She turned her gaze to him. "Where am I going to stay?" Her voice was a whisper, almost as if subconsciously she was scared to cause any more damage to her own home.

"Right," he sighed, the frustration in his tone making her shrink back a little. "Go and pack your stuff."

"What?"

"Your essentials - toothbrush, pyjamas, the lot. You can come back to mine."

Nikki felt her eyes widen in surprised gratitude. "You don't have to-"

"Yes, I do," he said, directing a wonderfully frank stare at her. She was opening her mouth to respond when the sound of a car pulling up outside alerted them both the the arrival of the police. Jack made his way out to the hallway, peering through the broken door to confirm it was them before turning back to Nikki. "I'll talk to them - you go and get packed up."

She nodded, thanking him with a single look before starting up the stairs. The sound of a car door slamming followed her, and Jack's voice as he greeted the detective through the doorway. She turned her attention to the landing as she reached the top step, taking in the extent of the damage. As with the ground floor, the lights and mirrors and any ceramics had been smashed, and the floor was a mosaic of fragments from different fragile sources. She moved carefully across the landing, avoiding them where possible to make her way to her bedroom.

It took a good ten minutes to get everything together; her room had been turned virtually upside down by the intruder and Nikki had to scour the bathroom twice before she managed to find her conditioner, nestled beneath one of her towels behind the door. The shampoo remained lost, and she gave up searching to hastily throw a few outfits into her bag. The shock at the break-in had been replaced by a bleak resignation, and a strong desire to sleep off the effects of the alcohol which was still lingering in her system.

Forensics had arrived by the time she descended, cautiously watching her step as she navigated the hallway again. A man in a familiar dark blue Tyvek suit bustled past her, glancing around much like Nikki and Jack themselves would upon arriving at a crime scene as he stopped to place down his forensic kit.

"Dr Alexander," a tall woman approached her, extending an arm. Nikki shook her hand, mumbling a greeting in response.

"Annabelle Leung. I'm investigating the break-in," the woman said formally in her slightly clipped accent.

"Nice to meet you."

"Your colleague has told us everything he knows. Is there anything you can add which might help us?"

Nikki hesitated and then lowered her gaze, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I can't think of anything."

"That's okay-" she began, before Jack's voice cut down the hallway.

"Nikki, are you ready to go?"

She turned, nodding and offering him an unconvincing smile.

"Right then," he said, making his way over to stand by her and begrudgingly acknowledging the detective.

"Well, if either of you think of anything that might be relevant, you have my number," Leung said.

"Thank you," Nikki murmured.

The detective smiled, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she moved past her. Still, the gesture felt heavily rehearsed and did little to comfort her. Nikki had done the same thing too many times to be taken in by it, and this woman did not care a bit about her property. It was most probably the case that she couldn't wait to get back to the warmth and security of her own home and leave the troubles of others behind her. Such was the superficiality of working on the front-line of crime.

Once they were alone, Jack headed down the hallway to tug open the shattered door for her. Nikki ducked under his arm to exit and he followed, quickening his pace a little to catch up with her.

He frowned then, gaze travelling up the driveway. "Your car's here," he stated. Nikki blinked at him.

"Yeah, I got a cab."

"No, I mean that your car's on the drive, so the burglar had no reason to suspect you'd be out."

"Maybe they watched me leave," she suggested absently, wrapping her arms around herself in the vague hope of warming herself up a little. The beginnings of sobriety had brought with it a lack of resistance to the winter air. Jack narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe," he said simply, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders as he steered her towards his car. "Come on then Cinderella, let's get you out of the cold."

She could only comply as he bundled her into the passenger seat, letting her use his arms for support as she clambered in. The door was pushed shut behind her, and she allowed her gaze to wander, sliding from the frame of the window to the dim view of the house beyond it. A torchlight illuminated the upstairs window, and she exhaled slowly, sinking further into her seat and letting the comforting scent of Jack's jacket envelop her. She was met with a brief gust of cold air as the driver's side door opened and he slid in beside her. The engine rumbled to life.

"You okay?" he asked.

Nikki glanced at him. "Yeah," she said softly, returning her gaze to the window. "I just don't understand why..."

"We'll find out," he promised as she trailed off.

Soothed somewhat by the warmth and gentle vibrations of the car, Nikki fell into silence again and Jack started to drive. She watched as the lights of houses blended into one through the misty window, illuminating horizontal lines across the glass which rose and fell with the motions of the vehicle. It was an oddly therapeutic experience, her muddled brain functioning too slowly to register each individual light source and instead processing them as a cohesive mass. There was a metaphor in there somewhere perhaps, but she failed to catch it.

Similarly abstract thoughts occupied her mind for the duration of the journey; the silence they had lapsed into felt natural, and neither had any real incentive to break it for some irrelevant and ultimately meaningless comment. Nikki sometimes thought that she could convey more to Jack through non-verbal interactions and gestures anyway. He seemed to be finely-tuned to her mannerisms by now, although perhaps that was a consequence of them working together; hundreds of forensic investigations into various different deaths had meant that they could read each other fairly well.

The car slowed at last and Nikki lifted her head, pushing herself into an upright position in the seat one she realised they'd arrived. Jack glanced across at her once they'd come to a complete stop, before clambering out of the car and circling it to help her out from her side. The door swung open. She felt more than a little foolish as she stepped out, tugging on her skirt as it inched up her legs. Jack, she noticed vaguely, ignored the dress situation, focusing instead on getting her to the door in one piece. Humiliation at her dependency on him that night coloured her cheeks a little, but she didn't dare let go of her grip on his arm, certain that she would fall otherwise.

Once they had entered the building, Jack led her straight down the hall in the direction of his room.

"Here," he said, pushing open the door and waiting for her to enter. Nikki didn't move.

"That's your bed," she said slowly.

"Correct. Did the intruder steal some of your brain cells too?" Jack asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

"No I meant... where are you going to sleep?"

"I'll take the sofa," he said casually. Even through the fog of alcohol clouding her brain Nikki couldn't let that stand, and she shook her head.

"That's not fair," she protested.

"It'll just be for a couple of nights. I sleep on the sofa all the time anyw-"

"We could share," she burst out, speaking as though it was some sort of revelation. Then her mind caught up with her mouth and she instantly regretted her words, lamenting briefly the fact that she couldn't pluck them back out of the air.

Jack's face was a picture. His eyebrows crept even further up his forehead, and then he laughed. "Just how much have you had to drink?"

"Oh come on Jack, we're both adults," she pouted, suddenly consumed by the need to pass her suggestion off as something insignificant.

"That's precisely why I'm worried," he teased, voice dropping in pitch slightly and sending a shiver down the top of her spine. She blamed her own intoxication for the involuntary response, vowing fleetingly that she'd never let Thomas send her to a function alone again; she clearly couldn't be trusted around alcohol anymore. Perhaps it was the stress of the past few years - losing Harry and Leo in such a short space of time had been a shock. Or maybe she was getting old. Nikki resented that thought even more.

Seeing that her mind had wandered, Jack placed a careful hand on the small of her back to nudge her into the bedroom. All of a sudden she was hyper-aware of the warmth of it seeping into her skin through the flimsy material of her dress, and marvelled at how his hands could be so cautious when he so often used them to break other men's noses.

"I'll see you in the morning," he said, cold air rushing to fill the void left by his hand as he withdrew.

"Jack, wait," Nikki turned to face him, taking a hasty step forwards and catching her breath as one heel gave way beneath her. Her arms shot out at the same time as his, and she gripped onto his forearms for support as she quickly regained her balance. An embarrassed laugh slipped from between her lips, and she blinked down at where her fingertips dug bleached smudges into the tender skin they clutched at. When she risked a glance back up at him he was studying her, lips quirking up in good-natured exasperation.

She coloured a little, realising just how much of her dignity she would have to retain the following morning, but it was of very little consequence to her just then. Thus, noting with a brief rush of satisfaction that she was only a couple of inches shorter than him in her heels, she took a further step forwards, tilted her head upwards and brushed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

When she stepped back, releasing his arms and reaching out for the door to steady herself instead, his demeanour had softened immeasurably, displaying openly a strange sort of vulnerability she had never really noticed in him before, except maybe fleetingly upon her return in Mexico.

"Thank you," she said, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. Jack stared at her, lips parted. She struggled to work out exactly what he was feeling; his expression was akin to those she had seen on him when they had a new breakthrough in a case - a sort of exhilarated intensity, perhaps. Either way, this insight was short-lived, and he masked the look a moment later by glancing downwards and clearing his throat.

"Goodnight, Nikki," he murmured and she exhaled, a contradictory mix of relief and disappointment battling in her mind, indistinguishable from that of intoxication and emergent sobriety. She nodded, lowering her own gaze as he turned his stare back on her again.

"Goodnight," she returned softly, fingers slipping from the edge of the door. He gave her a tentative smile and then turned to head down the hallway away from the bedroom. Repressing a strange urge to follow him, or call him back, or to do anything which meant she wouldn't be left alone in the quiet solitude of his room, Nikki pressed her lips together and shut the door behind him.


End file.
